The Edanganni Equation

After the night prayer in our village chapel it is customary to gather in the facade for a small tete-a-tete  before  we disperse for dinner.

That day the talk was about an uncle whose wife was his sworn adversary from day one. The story goes that  he was taken to a house for 'bride viewing' and he  was so fascinated  with the girl that he gave his consent then and there and the marriage date was also fixed by the elders on that occasion. But at a later date the bride's side found out some  astrological hitch and the proposal fell  through. To be turned down by the bride's side, that too his son being a  government employee, this was indeed a  prestige issue and the  father vowed to conduct his son's marriage on the fixed date. This time there was no bride viewing. The father took on the onus and in great haste a girl was arranged. Our boy was upset and on the day of the wedding he would not budge from his bed. He was cajoled and coaxed  and literally pulled to the chapel  to the accompaniment of drums and nadaswaram.  There was nothing wrong with the bride, she was  homely girl, well versed in house hold work but the man's initial dissatisfaction continued to the end. At his death bed all his anger towards his wife which included the little chapel and it's patron saint too!

He used to shout "When there are umpteen number of male saints in the church, like St. Antony,  St. Sebastian  which fool's idea  was it to name the chapel after an old  lady (St. Anne) who protects the female genre to the disadvantage of the male population?"

"Look at this village........"he lamented, “the joker in the last house died young, while his sickly wife had a good grip on life and survived till her late nineties........

Another healthy and hardworking cousin died in his seventies in his sleep while his wife freely enjoys movies in the nearby town. In the very next house the sick man is pushed to the cowshed due to some life sucking ailment while the lady plays dayam (similar to mahjong)  with her friends all day  long  gossiping .   Every year the ladies leave no stone unturned to celebrate the feast of St. Anne and pacify her by making pongal (sweet rice)

The reluctant bridegroom, our uncle, now in his seventies, used to tell his wife; "Hey lady don't ever imagine that you are going to enjoy my pension for a long time hiding behind that 'old lady of the chapel', as soon as I go I will make sure of a reservation for you in heaven to immediately follow me " With this caustic remark he would toss and turn around  in  pain.

My uncle died but something should have gone wrong either with the reservation or the delivery from the next world.......even after 20 years the ticket from the world beyond had not  reached our aunt."

 "Or St. Anne might have caught hold of the courier from heaven on his way to the village and threw the ticket into our 'Pappa kulam' tank (which is the large pond in the village).

Everyone laughed including our dear aunt as she recited this episode in the holy venue on the portal of the chapel.

There is a truth in what he said in spite of his venom for our aunt. One of the ladies in the gathering said. "We ladies live long in this place" We  laughed out again. It became the joke of the day! I shared it over a call with my elder sister for the next bout of laughter and with friends and other family members longing for more!

 "Shall we all go live there ?!" one of them joked

In great anticipation  I shared it with my youngest sister, a leading campaigner for gender equality, who regretfully belong to the category of women who could squeeze out  any element  from any woman's joke for condemnation.

After a pause she said "It's no joke sis, Do you know that in those days the girls were married off as soon as they reach puberty? Or sometimes even before that? Do you know that our own mother got married very young and we know the age difference. Our men love to have young girls as their wives. 'Young is beautiful'. 'A man never gets old' is their male chauvinistic notion. They think and believe that the ladies lose their vibrancy very quickly. So at the husband's  old age a young wife can be of great assistance to him rather than being a sick and aged companion!

Do you know that the Singapore prime minister late Lee Kuan Yew's wife is elder to him by years?  Together it was a beautiful experience for them.

Do you know that Kasthuri Bai is older by months to Gandhiji? They were an ideal couple.

Do you know that both these ladies preceded their husbands in death?

Now tell me sis, whether it has anything to do with the chapel named after our dear  lady St. Anne and that she is partial?

With this gender justice water fountain she right royally doused the feminist sarcasm.

In any equation there are two sides and that is true for the Edanganni equation too.

The Pasca - Passion play

A few years back we were fortunate to visit an exotic place in Yercaud where our friends had built an equally exotic house. Of the four grounds  plot that has been sold, the purchase agreement says  one is allowed to build  just on one ground of land  allowing the rest for greenery! The seller was indeed a green lover!!

As we went  for an early morning around the 56 acre gated community and  verdant beauty we were introduced to the gardener whom  our friends thought was an enigma. Apart from tending the gardens with great care and love that son of the soil was a  medicine man par excellence. That particular day a man was celebrating the birth of a child after 14 years of marriage! He was thanking the gardener who was responsible for this miracle with his herbal medicine! We were overwhelmed! The gardener, Mr.  Mariannan was like a well chiseled sculpture with a baritone voice and as we were  congratulating him on his  wonder medicine our friend told him that we are Christians too. This made Mariannan very enthusiastic and turning to us he said; "Aha.... Sir then you should have witnessed a pasca (passion play) during the Lenten season". We replied in the positive and told him that even in our village it was customary to celebrate the washing of the feet on few Thursdays in the Lenten season by each family in remembrance of the last supper of Jesus and that two weeks back we took part in that ritual.

He said that  in the local pasca  he was  one among the  key actor which takes place in Yercaud on the 6th week of Lenten season every year. When we wanted to know the role he played in the show he informed us that he was John the Baptist who was the precursor  to Jesus. It seemed that the drama reached  its crescendo when Herodias, wife of Herod demanded John the Baptist’s head as her birthday present which was cut off and offered in a platter to her!! Such was his powerful performance that most of the audience would leave the place as if it was the end of the show and not the  crucifixion  of Jesus! Mariannan was laughing with pride when he shared this information with us.

As we walked along I remembered the first and Pasca I attended.  I was eight then and  went to my aunt's place in Michaelpatti a small village of our relatives. I got the fright of my life when the relatives came into the house to chat. Most of them had long beards and moustache! My aunt explained that were going to play various roles in the passion play. She also added that on these  40 days of the Lenten season peace prevailed over  the village since the actors fasted on all days and  most important they avoided booze and paan chewing.

The show started on Good Friday and went on through Easter Sunday. The whole village was in a festive mood with the sprouting  sweet meat shops with their pink and green offerings. Bangle shops  vied with one another to tempt the  ladies. The balloon man laughed along with the sticky sweet seller with his fare in a long wooden rod who could magically produce 'vibgyor' edible watches and bangles! With one anna and half an anna  gift from my various relatives I was indeed rich and my cousins lead me to these various shops where I became a provider. And as a sort of recompense to the Lord we made occasional visit to the church in between!!

The piety with which the Good Friday rites were conducted in our  house was totally lost in this festive mood.  We didn't attend any way of the cross. For a change I didn't mind and enjoyed the ambience with the guilt pushed to the outer most corner. But if only my mother had known these facts it was doubtful if mother would have allowed me this trip at all!

People running around to get ready for the show filled the village with anticipation. A stage was set up In the huge church ground and villagers  reserved their seats by sprinkling water and spreading the mats at the vantage points The show would go through the whole night and we children had the advantage  of  snoozing within five minutes unto the show  in the cold breeze from river Caveri!

Now back in the present at Yercaud, our friend was saying; " We haven't heard about such a show at all. May be this year we will go and witness Marianna's " our friends said

" Why don't you go to the village of Oberammergau in Germany  where the world's greatest passion show is happening?" I said

"Is it?"

" You know  the   villagers of Oberammergau  were  enacting the show from 1634.In the  year 1632 a bubonic plague was ravaging the region and the death rate among the adults rose. The villagers prayed  that if God spared them from this   they would produce a play thereafter for all the time depicting the life and death of Jesus. The death rate among adults slowly subsided. The villagers kept their part of the promise to the Lord . The whole village participated in the show. But what was once a village show had turned into an international show extending to 5 months once in 10 years ! And even in this international show the villagers are part and parcel of it."

" It would be interesting if  we all plan to go together."

" The next show is happening in the year 2020."

" God willing............ If not our Mariannan's show is available all the time... ha... ha....."

We continued the  walk.

" I also have an interesting anecdote in this regard." my husband went on with the passion talk.

 "This happened in a village near Dindugal. The passion play was at the climax when Jesus was to be nailed to the cross. The cross was laid on the stage and Jesus was  pushed  unto it by the Roman soldiers. One of soldier dramatically brought in big nails. The audience was in tears.  As the Roman soldier raised the hammer the spectators were literally crying. As the hammer went down with big thud into the cross ,a screaming Jesus jumped off the cross and pointing his bleeding finger at the Roman soldier he gave out a  ******* word  and shouted " Mind where you are putting the nail you son of a fool.......  never ever  on the finger but in between the fingers..... you******* idiot." So saying Jesus Christ went back , stretched his hands and laid himself on the cross!! The most passionate of  part of the show turned into laughing event! The funniest part was that the Roman soldier happened to be his own son and whether he  was sleepy or did it on purpose was questionable even to this day!

Our laughter continued till we finished our walk at the water falls!!

A marvel of a meeting

It had rained heavily the night before and our road as usual was a big  stream of dirty water. In keeping with the Chennai norms the platform was absent in many places. And what little was left of the platform was made use by the  apartments making a dugout  for the convenience of taking out their vehicles and for their part the Chennai Corporation had constructed umpteen number of manholes in the name of service to the citizens. And depending on our fate, they might either be left open or closed. The construction people  too had their share to add to the pedestrian misery by disposing building debris.  Hence the platform was usually avoided  by the pedestrians and with that evacuation by the pedestrians, all the vehicles ingeniously used the road for more manoeuvrability.

On this day of my experience, it was further impossible to use any part of the road since it was flowing with murky waters and using the platform became inevitable.  It was heartening that the motorists were considerate that morning and reduced their speed lest the walkers would be drenched to the core.  I was coming back from my walk and as I was getting ready to amble around the debris on the precarious gap of a platform I saw an old  lady trying to do the same from the opposite side. I stopped and waited till she came over to my side.  Wearing a cotton sari and a big bindi on the forehead, with sparkling ear stud and matching nose ring  she accosted me with a benign smile and said “The old time culture is built in us…..Today’s youngsters do not bother. Even if you are standing in the bus young girls look the other way (as if we are the road side beggars at the traffic signals).  That way boys are better and they do give their seats to elders.”

“It is indeed true” I said

“ Are you a Christian?” she enquired to which my reply was positive. ”I too studied in a Christian school and I know many songs.”  I beamed brightly with a nod and was ready to proceed further on my way but she would have none of it. She told me that she had her heart surgery a few months back and it was indeed a very critical one.

"Come closer" she said and opening her blouse she exhibited the stitches as if I was her intimate friend or a dear relative. She continued “Before the operation my sugar was 400, my potassium was down and my creatinine level was high and the doctors kept their fingers crossed when they decided to operate on me.  My husband  had to  sign the papers  acquitting the doctors from all responsibilities. 

After the operation I was lying in the ICU unconscious  for several days The ordeal came to an end after three months and I was back home. I went to the hospital for my first check up As sitting in the chair was a effort I lay down on the row of four chairs which were empty.

A  gentle touch woke me up and I thought my husband who had gone for his coffee had come back. I was wrong. The chief surgeon, who operated on me, was helping me to get up and led me into his room.  Other patients in front of me were still waiting 

I was worried ; Something must have gone wrong  with the whole operation. “Amma” he said “we have done a thorough check up of all your parameters. Are you happy to know that all your parameters are  normal?” I couldn’t believe my ears! He is indeed a miracle man! I thanked him profusely.

“ Now let us come to a very important point.” He said and crossing his legs he sat relaxed

“ What doctor….? I was worried about the bad news he was going to deliver after the good one.

“Amma whenever I came to the ICU to check on you I found you singing softly. I am curious….. I would like to listen to those songs. Can you do it for me?

“I was enthralled and went on from one song to the other and that busy doctor was enjoying my show all through…”

“ Would you like to listen to those songs now?”she said turning to me.

I was reminded of the singer Krishna who took the Carnatic music songs from the elite platform of sabhas to the slums of Chennai.

In the middle of the road I was about to listen to songs…..! Am I dreaming…….? Am I crazy……?

Yet I replied to her “Why not…..?”

 She sung……. Held my hands…… Kept  the rhythm on my chest…….Song after song it continued……… I couldn’t control my tears. Is  a miracle happening to me? Am I inside a church…..?

When I came back to my senses I thought about the lady…….. I realised that she had a major surgery recently. With her song still continuing I slowly led her to a low compound wall nearby and made her sit…… The watch man of the apartment became one more  appreciative audience

 When she stopped at last I was bewildered! For her age she  possessed a fine voice.

"Shall I sing an English song for you...?"

I couldn't say no

“ How can you do it?! At your age?! And that too after your operation?”

“That is what the doctor too asked me ”she laughed and continued “ It is the Lord and his songs! whenever I am alone at home I sing incessantly and energise myself!  And you know the doctor gave me his hands and asked me what he can do for her. I held them in mine and told him that these hands were my saviour but this was possible for me because I was able to manage the cost of the surgery. Would these hands help those who suffer and still are very poor? That is what the Lord did”

“Now he held my hand tight and said “Yes amma  will do it.......for sure”

On an appreciative note the watch man plucked a canna flower and presented it to her.

"Take care" I said

As we crossed paths  my gait was different.

I shared my once a life time experience with my husband. He too was enthralled and said "By the way did you get her address or phone number?"

"This is just once in a blue moon event..... can't happen every day but there is a reason and it shows that the Divine speaks to us through very unique events, which most of the time we brush away" I replied and went away humming!!

The Chennai Floods 2015

The  sufferings of the Chennaites during the 2015  December floods were of great magnitude. Unprecedented outflow from the lakes and intermittent heavy rains, poor infrastructure took a heavy toll.  The houses in the embankments were washed away. The low lying areas took a big hit with water rising up to the second floor level. People were hungry sick and helpless . In spite of the political parties which were bent upon fishing in these troubled waters the spirit of Chennai rose up to the occasion. The youth who were generally considered  beyond redemption   proved that they were a class par excellence and with their selfless service  filled  the entire  state with  hope for a great future . 

The flood was not a huge  monetary loss for us but the inconveniences caused were worth a mention in this blog!

It was raining hard the whole night and in the morning balancing an umbrella on the slippery steps  I came down to the ground floor where we have the guest bedrooms and kitchen and dining. The portico and the verandah were brimming with murky waters.

Being an optimist  I believed that the inside of my house would be safe and sound. Sometimes it is better to be a pessimist!

 As I opened the lock the welcoming committee was in place in anticipation  of  my  arrival. The door mats were floating around along with the precious and expensive coffee table books ! Our DIY IKEA book shelf turned turtle throwing all my beloved books unto those muddy waters. In the bedrooms the stacked up bed sheets spreads  towels etc  in the lower shelves had gained weight ready for a liposuction.

Our kitchen is indeed a class apart. Even for ordinary rains  the swelled up well at the back creates minor havoc around  the place. But on this  day the chaos was of different order. The lower shelves immersed in water along with the 'drunken and dancing'  groceries were indeed a once in a life time spectacle!!

Added to all these chaos an amazing occurrence was happening in and around house. The tiny frogs, not the tadpoles but full grown minions occupied the house and  it’s surrounds in great strengths leapfrogging on any one who dared to disturb them. Like the Pied Piper of Hamlin they followed suit on those who dared to enter their regime.  In my anxiety I took broom which was standing straight in spite of  this utter disorder and started banging at them. I regretted my hasty action. The frogs jumped in glee all over me and I got the fright of my life thinking over my grandmother's commanding statement that we would get skin disease if  ever we came into contact with a frog!

At one point of time electricity was cut. In spite of using the inverter very frugally it gave up its spirit. Efforts to light up the  few tea candles  with a single match box was a grand failure with the match box conspiring with the wet ambience.( From the newspaper  we came to know that a single candle was sold at Rs.50.) Frantic outside calls went unanswered striking panic among friends and relatives outside Chennai and the  unaffected lucky few  within the city. 

Wading  through the waters I cooked a pot full of rice and carried it to the first floor. With some  pickles  and 'fridge less' curd it turned to be an ambrosia for a full day!

If I thought that the inside of our house  was in a big  mess, in many houses the toilets were overflowing creating a big stink. As in the poem of Francis Thompson ‘Hound of Heaven "If the pulp so bitter how shall taste the rind?” if the houses themselves were in a state of chaos  what could we say about our road condition? The grimy water was filled with jetsam and flotsams of varied hues and shapes. The stink from this overflowing waters could be the  precursor for any number of contagious diseases waiting  around the corner!!

My son and daughter in law were our redeemers whisking us away from this muddle. They too acted as the guardian angel for my sister in law from her place where the water raised to the waist level.

10 days with the grand children and rest of the family , an interesting book by your side and the rainy breeze  through the French windows was indeed a bliss!

I am giving you all these details to explain my situation and why there was no blog for quite some time.

In sympathy with the ambience it gained plenty of moisture and refused to budge to the heat of hair dryer. No service person were available for the  lowly few  single computer owners since their priority was to bring back life  many an inundated IT companies filled with umpteen no of computers. Mine sprang to life late but applied for VRS in no time and till the new person joined duty my blog was wait listed!

The bag and its controversies

“Auntie I would like to ask you something but you should not mistake me.”

“It is regarding the snacks you send every year for the festival.”

“Oh is it regarding the snacks? May be you don’t like the repetition?”

“No…. no….. Please don’t change your menu… We actually anticipate your yearly mouth-watering nibbles…

But it is the repetition of the bags over the past 5 years in which you send those items that had created lot of guessing between me and my wife Lallu. We know that it is the bag which has coconut banana and paan and a sweet given to the wedding guests before they leave the hall.

“And how does the guessing game go?”

Lallu thinks  these are bags from a marriage stopped at the last moment. She says it  might be a dowry problem……compulsion by the parents.... a love affair etc. etc…..

“What is your idea …my dear boy?”

“ I think it should be the excess bags printed for  the wedding Knowing your penchant for non-plastic bags they should have given you those to be put into use…..

And today we decided that we would put an end to this argument that has gained an yearly permanency ……… like an yearly budget discussion….and sort it out with you once for all”

I laughed and said “you should have come along Lallu. Over a cup of green tea our discussion would have been more interesting.”

“I was wondering why no one has asked me this question for the past so many years.”

The story goes like this

“It was the wedding of the only son of a widow who with her hard work and determination educated the boy in engineering diploma and when he expressed his desire to go for a degree course it was a bit of a disappointment for her. He convinced her that with an engineering degree it would be easy to get a high paying job.  His goodness was beyond compare and his mother knew that she was not wasting money on him. She begged and borrowed to fulfil his desire. He was not a high flyer but finished his the course fairly well. Due to this and his lack of proficiency in English he couldn’t land himself in a good job. But both of them didn’t lose heart and The mother gave out his bio data to all she knew with the hope that one of them might help out her son. With a bit of luck he landed on a decent job and his mother wasted no time in fixing his  marriage.

On the day before the wedding when the bags for the return gift were delivered the boy was furious. The name printed on the bag was his dad’s younger brother and his wife. The boy knew how they were treated after his father’s demise, how jealous they were when he did his engineering and what sort of mental torture his mother underwent with them as their neighbour.

“Amma (mother) …the boy shouted …”What have you done?”

He was holding the gift bag in his hand

The mother was worried that the boy was talking about the expensive bag. She tried to pacify him.

“Dear son I know the bags are a bit expensive but they looked so beautiful…..And since you have sent your wedding invitation through the computer and relatives were invited personally I wanted your  hard earned degree to be  known to the world…and that you are marrying a degree holder too . So I printed your names with the respective degree. Is that a mistake or buying an expensive bag is a mistake?

Don’t worry …….. I can manage the expense.”

“ Amma I am neither worried about your expense nor about printing the degrees. Why their name?” the boy shouted.

“That is the way of the world,” his mother said matter of fact.

“I don’t want to abide by the tenets of the world. Why didn’t you print your name on those bags?”

“My dear boy” she said “Your father is no more and it is not auspicious to put my name on the bags.” She said

“To hell with your customs” he yelled “If you are going to distribute those bags tomorrow   I swear that my marriage is off.”

His friends who had gathered there to pack the items in the bags tried to convince him to adjust for the sake of his mother.

“I would rather go for a registered marriage than a wedding in which those printed bags would be distributed.” He firmly said

His mother called up her close family friend and poured out her heart.

“The boy is right. At some point we have to do away with our orthodox customs…… Don’t worry I will take care of everything. I will be at your place after some time and talk to the boy.”

A satisfied mother switched off the cell phone.

Straight away he proceeded to Parry’s’ Anderson street (Chennai) and bought the required number of generic bags which just said “Thank You.”

He went to the wedding house and instructed his friends to pack the items in the new bags and said to the boy “Hats off my dear son for your excellent stand… I don’t know if I would have done the same in a similar situation….. I consider these bags not as a wedding gift to you rather they are your wedding gift to me since you have taught me a lesson to stand by a principle…!”

Thus those printed bags came into my possession… and mind you those bags which were discarded for a principle would be proudly sent to you till I exhaust them. Is it ok with you?”

Manu was emotional; he smiled and nodded his head!

Kumquats in the Quibble Island!

If ever you happen to visit the Quibble island cemetery, in Santhome, Chennai, on All Souls ’ Day and if ever you are lucky enough to see a grave decorated with kumquat fruits, be assured that these fruits indeed carry a big story which you are lucky enough to share with me today.

Leaving a cushy job at Calcutta and start a new venture in Madras was a complicated decision.  We took a chance and had decided that in the worst case scenario both of us could be employed somewhere. My husband was young and he didn’t have much of an experience. And he was new in the arena of finance. There were month ends when he had to convince his bank to release at least the staff salary. Designing a product, manufacturing it, marketing and selling the same and collecting the money single handedly was not the easiest proposition. The cash flow crunches debilitate you. The market preferred a branded product to an innovative piece. On one of those ‘down in the dumps’ days, uncle came in the evening just to chat and my husband shared some his problems with him.

In the course of the conversation uncle asked him “Raja what do you think of me?” My husband was wondering what sort of question was that when he was weighed down by his own problem. Out of courtesy he said “As your name board says you have a doctorate in horticulture and you were the dean of a famous agricultural university and your brilliance had earned you the emeritus scientist status” He laughed at this and said, “Please listen to a little story”

It was a family of all sons and this blessed mother’s daily prayer was on these following lines:

“God you have given me plenty of blessings through my intelligent sons;  I thank you for that gift; I also need one more gift from you; one of my sons  as you very well know is a  good boy but  a dud.  Amongst my sons your sharing had gone haywire somewhere; but I don’t blame you for that; but my only request is that please make sure that he passes his S.S.L.C and gets a clerical job in the government so that after us he has a comfortable living without depending on his brothers.”

He continued “and you know who was that black sheep of the family? It’s I!!!”

“Please uncle don’t put down yourself just to encourage us” I said to him

“I am not trying to weave a story ma” he said “With very low mark I passed my SSLC but I wanted to go for the intermediate course in the college. Passing my SSLC should have given me the big boost and the courage to go on like my other brothers. My parents didn’t want to discourage me and they put me on to the course. I think some anunaki or a greater power should have touched me at that juncture. From that moment on, there was no looking back for me! I came out with flying colours through my graduation and post-graduation and the miracle of all miracles was that I won a merit scholarship to go to USA for my research in agricultural science!!”

“To make a beginning is always difficult” he said, “but once you start it, the ride becomes either smooth or at the least you will be able to avoid the mistakes you had committed earlier.” “You have caught hold of the tiger’s tail Raja (my husband’s pet name) and now there is no option but to ride on it and with your intelligence you can definitely do It.” he added.

These on and off morale boosting sessions helped us to manage many situations and it played an important role in our progress.

We were progressing well professionally and with a good foreign collaboration we have put up a factory of our own. Naturally uncle took over the responsibility of laying our garden. He added value to the whole scenery by planting two kumquat saplings in the midst of the garden and told me that this kumquat the lucky tree of South East Asia would bear thousands of fruits for me.

Uncle had interesting details about the introduction of kumquats. During a seminar some scientists were challenging him that he could not grow kumquat in South India. Uncle took up the challenge and the first kumquat plant took root in his house garden. Slowly he propagated the same by gifting away plants to all his friends. The first degree connection among the kumquat owning Chennaites may one day tempt them to form an association similar to a Rotary!  A person who came to the factory to do some art frescoes saw our kumquat and became very friendly since she was also a one to get that favour from uncle!

For my part I give away the plants to whomever likes to have and sometimes when the yield is too high we had gifted away the bottled kumquat juice to our staff members on their birthdays. Being a joint venture, people coming from UK factory were fascinated with the fruit and there was one person who takes away carton full of fruits to make his marmalade on his every visit to India!!

Uncle B.W.X. Ponnaiah is no more with us. On All Souls Day if any one sees his grave at the Quibble island cemetery at Foreshore estate, Chennai decorated with kumquat fruits it is our  tribute to the great ‘morale booster’ in our lives!

What annoys you most?

I was reading the day’s paper the title “I don’t like being called paatti (grandma)” struck a chord in me! It was an interview by an actress and when the reporter asked the above question she replied “I don’t like being called paatti. When someone calls me paatti I know I am an aged person but you don’t have to call me paatti. I associate this word to being ‘useless’.”

 This is the statement by 80 year old Ms. Subbulakshmi who is centre figure in a film in progress named ‘Ammani’. She was indeed venting out the sentiments of many elderly women!

But in no shop the elderly gentlemen are called thatha; it is always the respectful ‘sir’. The underlying fact is that in the Indian male chauvinistic society, the man wields various self imposed powers, including the economic one, and no one dares to antagonise him while these dependent elderly women are right royally bullied around !

When the grandchildren call a person as paatti, it is indeed a word of great affection but when all and sundry use it the hurt is beyond words.

A friend of mine in medical field narrated the following incident in her place of work. An emergency situation arose in her hospital when a nurse addressed a high BP patient as ‘paatti’ thinking that she was patronising her. But this angered so much that she jumped from her bed along with the IV stand and started abusing the nurse. Instantly she collapsed and fell down unconscious. She had to be rushed to the emergency ward and luckily for the hospital she survived. That very day there was an unscheduled emergency meeting at the hospital wherein the management impressed upon the staff to address all the women patients as ‘madam’ irrespective of their age.

The next one is a similar incident on a busy hour in a big textile show room. A lady entered the shop with full enthusiasm in anticipation of a great shopping. A sales man around fifty accosted her saying “come in paattimma.” The lady was disturbed by this salutation. To add fire to the fuel he was showing her a few saris with disinterest. And when she asked him to bring out the saris from a certain shelf he commented “This will not suit to you paattimma……these are meant for youngsters.” And that was the last straw! The lady burst out.

“My eldest grand child is just 16 and why should you... why should you..... A 50 year old man call me a paattimma?” she was ferocious “You call the ladies with dyed hair very respectfully as madam while I am disrespectfully addressed not just as paatti but paattimma? Am I your paatti’s mother? And who are you decide what I should wear? Do you know that I have come today to give you big business but you are the loser?” Thoroughly irritated she huffed out of the shop and any amount of pacification proved unsuccessful. And a beautiful day turned into a horror story for the lady!

 Some sales staff makes a repetitive use of the word ‘paattimma’ to annoy the customer since they think that they are not usually profitable customers and can be bullied at will!  And like Subbulakshmi feels “patties are useless condemned lot.”

That ‘aging word’ puts people off!

“Not dyeing my hair black is my right but that does not grant you the right to call me paattimma!

But there is a great effort in the market to attract this growing older population. Charming advertisements ensnare the elderly since they hold the money power to call shots! With no commitments to the family the twosome fulfil all their innate desires for luxurious living and equally luxurious health services. But certain little fools in big malls have the audacity to hurt their sentiments and thus make them avoid those shops.

There is a generic beautiful word in Tamil which can be affectionately used from the new born girl child to the bed ridden old lady without compunction. And that beautiful expression is ‘amma’ which denotes ‘mother’, an embodiment of love and affection and all that is best in the world! There is a lot of difference when you say to a lady “paatti….. Be careful of the steps “and “amma…. mind your steps! “The first one indicates “Don’t fall down and becomes a burden to the family while the second one implies concern!” In north India it’s either ‘didiji’ or ‘bahenji’ or ‘maaji’ but never ever  ‘naniji’! These words carry with them lot of respect and kindness.

The English people call you just by your name irrespective of the age. It might be a shock to us Indians at the first instance but on second thought it makes us proud of our individuality.  And hence when we talk in English we call the foreigners by their name without any qualm but beckon our own Indians in their midst as ‘madam ‘or ‘sir’.  

Let us not put down the elderly especially the ladies with ill- chosen words or crack jokes with an inappropriate sense of humour.

Shaking Hands With the Queen

It was 1961. I was doing my second year BA and the ancillary was political science. Our lecturer for the subject was nick named as ‘rain man’. He never gave lectures from the big old podium of our big old college! (Which even boasted of hand operated pankas inclusive of pankawallas in the place of electric fans!) Instead he would descend down closer to the level of the students.  With plenty of hand swaying and abundant facial expressions combined with his ‘copious saliva rain’ he made sure that the students were ever in a state of mindfulness during his hour! The ordinary political events of the world was converted into emotional experiences by this magician!!

“The front seats are also for you dear students.” He would declare innocently unaware that it was left free on purpose!

The January session was on the unwritten constitution of England.  This man being a loyal royalist competing with the faithful zealots in the Queen’s own country elaborated about the head of the state.

“She went as a princess inside the tree house in the African country of Uganda for a holiday and came out as the queen of England “he said, with no  inkling of remorse at the demise of poor king George VI her father, which enabled her to become Queen Elizabeth II in 1953!

“The king is dead long live the king” he would affirm proudly eulogising the continuity of the head of the state in the country of England.

“An unwritten constitution…….! What a marvel………! Do give an example of our politicians who had read our Indian constitution, the largest in the world and adhere even to the few written rules.” He would challenge us.

“And do you know that the head of that marvellous country with an unwritten constitution is making a visit to our country the next month which includes a peek into Madras too? “He ecstatically exclaimed!

We were right royally got caught in the fervency of that man and wanted see Queen. And the urge to see her was sown.

We guessed that he might be travelling to Madras to have  ‘Queen dharshan’  . His enthusiasm was indeed contagious! We too drew a plan! We were just 9 girls in our class of 50 odd. And of them three had their relatives in Madras and I was one among the lucky ones with my married elder sister in place.

Then started the big process of convincing the parents to allow us to proceed to Madras. Those were the days of strict regimen when girls were forbidden from travelling alone even within the town. Even within our college the routine for ladies was to stand outside the class every hour and go in only after the lecturer entered the class and leave the class before him!

My parents’ first reaction to this ‘Queen dharshan’ was a natural emphatic ‘no’. I tried my best to convince them that my political studies involved the Queen too.  Had they been illiterate I could have created many more fancy stories, but they were not.

“Are the boys from your class going?”

“No… no……. it’s just us three girls…”

“Have their parents given them permission?”

“Yes very much….” I didn’t want to tell them that the other two girls were also sailing in the same boat!

“How will you three travel alone?”

“We will travel by the ladies compartment and send telegrams to receive us at the station and we can send one to sister.”

“So everything is planned and our consent is just a formality… isn’t it?”

“No never amma … if you are not allowing me to go ……..”

It was just a whine…….. And it did the trick!

The train was indeed a spectacle to watch. The inside was bulging out like an extra fat Japanese Sumo wrestler and on the outside was a miraculous hanging human vine without any hold and the top of the train was converted to a double decker!

“How crazy people are?” We three commented after finding our inch of a space in the ladies compartment, segregating ourselves apart from the mad crowd! It was an all-night vigil by the ‘royalty starved’ beings of India to honour of the monarchy!

I saw her  at Anna flyover and then near Egmore children’s hospital  and was lucky enough to see her at close quarters at the secretariat thanks to a friend of my brother in law who was a driver to a minister. With her gloved hands and the ornate hat she looked like a fairy and I came back to my town fulfilled and satiated!!

My exhilaration equalled that of my professor and my siblings were awestruck by my description of the Queen and Madras as a whole.

“You have spent so much of your father’s money and gone to the far away Madras. Did you shake hand with the queen?”

It was like a bolt from the blue! It was the grand old Selli akka who was sweeping the floor. This query pushed my elation to dust! I lost face and stopped talking.

My teenage exuberance was not there anymore. The ground reality that she was also a human like any of us dawned inside. Philosophic views of life had settled in what with a family and a new business in place.

But the  royalty didn’t want to leave me alone. This time it was the other way round. 

It was the year 1997 when Queen Elizabeth II made her second visit to India and to Madras too! One day my hubby called me through the intercom to come to his office room ( I was working in the same office).

The usual implication was some administrative problem. As I entered with my fingers crossed his smiling face augured some good tiding.

“Read this. “He said handing me a card. It was from the British High Commission. It was an invitation. The content indeed boggled me! It said that her majesty the Queen would be happy to meet us both during her visit to Madras! A successful joint venture with MTL UK had indeed brought us this windfall. We were the CIPs (commercially important people) for the Queen in her Commonwealth.

On that day after the embassy protocol was over we were the ones to shake her gloved hand. She listened carefully to my husband regarding our joint venture and with another hand shake wished us all success.

At that moment I wanted to cry out loud to the good old lady who put to me to shame in front of my siblings!

Instead I shouted within “Hey dear old Selly akka in whichever world you are, I want to tell you today  I have shaken hands with the queen!”

All these thoughts were triggered as I was sitting the huge Norwich library on the 9th of September 2015 reading the Times which proclaimed that Queen Elizabeth II was longest ruling British monarch exceeding Queen Victoria and Elizabeth I. She had indeed ruled the country for 63 years and 232 days beating Queen Victoria who ruled for 63 years and 216 days. At 89 she continues to hold fort and I wish her all the best, still wondering at the little moments she touched our lives!